


One Of Those Nights

by LyNguyen05



Series: Troubled Teens Fucked up Dreams [1]
Category: Rooster Teeth/Achievement Hunter/Funhaus RPF
Genre: M/M, Mavin if you squint, a little blood in case you're squeemish, v unhealthy relationships
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-19
Updated: 2016-06-19
Packaged: 2018-07-16 02:51:16
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,818
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7249111
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LyNguyen05/pseuds/LyNguyen05
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He scales the side of the house before pushing the window up and swings himself in, feet first. It’s almost two in the morning or maybe past five; he’s not exactly sure, having left his house without checking. But he’s never paid any mind to time before, and really, he knows he probably won’t ever.</p>
            </blockquote>





	One Of Those Nights

**Author's Note:**

> So this is part of a new series that I'll prob only ever write one or two things for bc eh. Hope you like it.  
> But im prt lazy so its unbeta'ed sorry

He scales the side of the house before pushing the window up and swings himself in, feet first. It’s almost two in the morning or maybe past five; he’s not exactly sure, having left his house without checking. But he’s never paid any mind to time before, and really, he knows he probably won’t ever. 

Propped up against the wall sits a teenager shirtless in blue jeans, blond hair tousled and a knife by his side.

He walks towards him, his feet making no noise on the hardwood floor as Blue eyes makes no move to acknowledge his presence. Ray watches as the other in the room takes his breathes slowly, his chest rising slightly as if he tried to take as little air as possible. The blank stare is kept to the shadows of the empty room. A pack of cigarettes sits in his hand, dejected, its lighter counterpart nowhere in sight.

Ray hovers over him, his own shadow supported by the clear moonlight of the full night.

“You’re blocking the light.”

He ignores him as he bends down to pick up the knife, folding it and pocketing it into his hoodie. It's wet with red, slightly crusty towards the handle. 

“You smoke a lot tonight?” It’s a pointless question because with the stuffy air, musty smell and empty look in his eyes, Ray can almost tell how many.

He doesn’t get a response - not that he was expecting any - so he sits down cross legged where the knife used to be, watching the other flinch at the sudden light before reaching over to take the almost empty box away.

They sit together in silence, time moving by with a slight blur after a while. He knows the alarm will go off at six and the sky outside is getting lighter out. 

It’s sick, how he loves to sit here in a room that people think is drugs, fights and sex, but really is just two messy kids in mostly silence and breathing with the thick musty smell of smoke and oranges. It's behind closed doors without expectations because he knows who he is, and who the blue eyed boy is and what happens every time he comes over. 

But it’s his, and no one can take it away from him. Not yet.

The alarm starts up, so he gets up off the floor, stepping over the legs of the other and crawls on the bed to turn it off. It  _ was  _ past five when he came over.

He feels arms wrap around his waist as he steps down from the bed and his breath hitches, and he  _ hates _ it. “Ryan,” he warns under his breath, even though he doesn’t try to. “You’re going to get blood on my clothes.”

Getting a grunt in reply, the arms tighten and he thinks in the back of his mind that there’s no way he can get back home in time later, and his purple hoodie is already thrown on the floor that, without a doubt, will not be there in the morning.

“Just wear something of mine.”

Ray knows that he’s not going to win this and sighs before walking in small steps, Ryan in tow. When they get to the small bathroom, he flicks on the light without flinching of the dim artificial light. 

The first thing he sees is himself in the mirror wearing a white tank top and two arms around his waist, a mass of light hair covering the face pressed into the crook of his neck. He rolls his eyes as Ryan groans and breaks free of the arms before making Ryan sit on the toilet cover.

“Vampire.” 

He pulls the first aid kit out of one of the drawers before inspecting Ryan’s left arm. The blood on his forearms didn’t streak, probably because the cuts on his arms were primarily new and just began to clot along with the fact the crimson red is staining his tank top. Still, he rinses the other’s arm under cold running water and disinfects it with alcohol - he didn’t want it to get infected from the old dried blood or the knife itself.

Ryan hisses his name as he tried to jerk his arm away, only to have a hand tighten around his wrist. Ray finishes with gauze and puts away the first aid kit. When he washes his hands after Ryan trudges out, he stares at the streaks of blood on white and wonders how many shirts or tank tops he’s gone through already. How many did he leave and never bother to take back home because he’ll leave with a shirt not his own? 

(It’s a pointless thought because he knows that when he can, he won’t leave with one of his own shirts that appear in Ryan’s drawers, washed and smelling like him but at some point, when he knows Ryan’s shirts are running out faster than his own, he’ll wear Ryan’s shirts when he comes over and replaces with one of his own and the cycle repeats.)

He walks out of the bathroom and he thinks he’ll actually go home today. 

Until Ryan is pulling him to the bed and then they’re lying there, his back to Ryan’s bare chest, facing the window. He turns over to face him after getting bored of staring at the same angle of the same sky through the same window he knows too well and feels Ryan drawing circles on his back. It’s like clingy post-sex cuddling without the sex and although they normally aren’t too cuddly or some sappy bullshit, Ryan has his moments and Ray just lets him because he  _ likes _ it but knows he’ll never say it to the blue eyed boy because, they aren’t like that at all. Not a couple, not friends-with-benefits - hell they aren’t even  _ friends _ , not really - and he can’t help but think it sucks because Ryan is right there front of him, staring with blue eyes and-

And nothing. 

He knows enough about Ryan to know that he thinks nothing of him, only the guy that comes around to make sure he isn’t dead and tends to his cuts and acts as his pillow or whatever he does. He’s useful Ryan, but he’s not - and never will be - the poster boy of unhealthy relationships, specifically whatever the fuck this relationship is.

Ryan takes off Ray's glasses, placing them on the nightstand next to the relocated alarm clock and he hopes that his body clock will wake him up in an hour or so. He falls asleep at some point in the silence and stares and when he wakes up, it’s almost seven thirty and he’s alone. It's not a surprise, and he’s not disappointed anymore ; he learned not to have any expectations the hard way.

He strips off the stained tank top before going back to the bathroom and using the purple toothbrush next to the green one. He thinks about this routine they have and how they never bother to question it - from the beginning to now - but there's no reason to start because they won't change, and they both know it. 

He goes to the drawers on the other side of the room, noting the new load but fuck it, his hoodie is being worn by Ryan right now and his pants are gone too, and if Ryan wants to play I-don’t-care-if-you- , then he’ll comply because really, there’s a lot of shit he could walk by without a second glance. The brown haired teen throws on one of Ryan’s loose tank tops and a pair of black ripped skinny jeans he left before considering going overboard, deciding against that, and then deciding against deciding against it.

_ Fuck it, fuck him, maybe fuck a freshman. _

It’s Ryan’s favorite jacket, an oversize grey zip up that’s a size too big for Ryan making it two sizes too big for him, but he can show everybody who he belongs to : no one but himself, because here he is, in a seemingly pointless game against Ryan fucking Haywood of wearing each other’s clothes, making crazy decisions just to see who would break first. It’s perfect, showing the world they don’t take shit from anyone, especially not someone of their own nature and that they aren’t a crazy match made in hell with nothing but broken strings, fighting, drugs and make-up sex because they aren’t a thing. 

He isn't supposed to be attached to Ryan, but sometimes, it hurts when they play their shitty game because Ryan seriously doesn't care about him and he ends up screaming on the inside because of a small thing like Ryan offering to walk Gavin to class or letting a girl wear that one blue jacket he owned while he has to do something really shitty or risky or painful just to spite him. 

(Once he had to get driven around by the douche-iest guy in school - Brad or whatever who apparently had the hots for him and hates Ryan more than someone roasting his ego - in a new pickup truck for a week while not picking up Ryan's calls, and got kissed. In the end, Ryan smoked double the normal amount he does, had to go to the hospital to get patched up because Ray couldn't fix  _ anything _ , Brad transferred schools and Ryan bruised his lips with his own so he could forget the weird taste of Brad's lips. He felt like shit for another week for abandoning Ryan, but quickly found out he let a girl borrow the jacket prior mentioned when she went skipping around school wearing it.  The jacket's ashes sit in a jar in his room now.)

After slinging his messenger bag on, he puts on the jacket, letting it cover one shoulder and slip off the other, showing lightly tanned skin and a glimpse of a small frame that will drive the school crazy. The perfect boy that seems too good to be true - perfect grades, perfect face and body, the seeming perfect life with everybody practically in love with them including parents, teachers, the guy who runs the bar-by-night-cafe-by-day and getting whatever they want - which is him, along with Gavin and the other people he’s been grouped with that unfortunately exactly perfect either, but they’re a lot closer then he is. 

Maybe he can drag a few girls around like an asshole to fuck with Ryan. 

Oh well.

He slips out the window and walks the path to school, a good thirty minutes until he reaches the front gate and everybody stares as he walks by, much to both his pleasure and displeasure. Gavin is already waiting at his locker, humming while kicking the ground with the heel of his mismatched shoes. Gavin sings a hello and quickly scans today's outfit. He was always curious about their "thing" but no longer bothers him with it (too much)

Ray knows the Brit wants to know, but there isn't anything to explain. 

He opens his locker to see his books neatly arranged with a glass bottle of iced coffee and a small bag of blueberry muffins sitting on top and he smiles to himself before switching his books out. The hallway, normally bustling with noise and movement goes still, and not because of Ray's look.

Down walks four familiar faces, and they stop next to him and Gavin as Ray takes a sip of his much needed coffee. Michael scowls at everybody around them, glaring until everything returns to before, albeit a little quieter. Jack smiles and Ray returns one, although it's slightly forced and he notices the crease in Geoff forehead before realizing he's sober. Gavin steps around them and talks with Michael who softens slightly at the presence of the Brit..

Ryan stands by Geoff, his side to Ray and stares aimlessly down the hallway, successfully unnerving anybody walking towards or away them. Ray lightly chuckles, and takes another sip of his drink. His locker is on the far end of the row against the wall with Gavin's right underneath and Michael's a few down, no one else making any move to come near their little spot.

Ray leans against his locker, mentally thanking the jacket for protecting his bare shoulders from cold metal, and watches Ryan blink, letting his shoulders slouch. Gavin and Jack are talking about something he doesn't catch a lot of while Geoff and Michael sit on the ground, back to metal and legs bent slightly mumbling about shitty life and the alcohol Geoff needs.

Ryan looks in the corner of his eye, staring at the youngest's exposed neck, his grey zip up showing a shoulder and just everything Ray is at the moment. He raises an eyebrow that only Ray catches and gets a shrug in response. The gent pulls up the purple hood and walks to class, and when he's out of sight, the hallway tension lifts, but is still there. Everybody walking by take a glance or stare because, how can they not? It's the Fake AH Crew, at eight twenty on a Thursday morning looking like a normal set of high schoolers. Almost normal.

They break off when the first class starts because, yes they are technically a gang with a strange but fitting set and  _ yes _ , they can kill someone if they wanted to but it's not like they're going to drop out or repeat years until they do when the only way to survive the world is with an education and money, and becoming drug dealers and criminals isn't exactly a choice. They're still kids who, like the rest, have no idea what they're going to be doing or where they'll be in five or ten years and they just want to make use of who they are now. 

Gavin asks what Ryan is to him - a question he hasn’t bothered to ask in a while - on the way to chemistry and Ray shrugs because, he isn’t exactly sure. Ray knows he isn’t anything to Ryan, and they aren’t friends. Ryan isn’t a fuck-buddy or friends with benefits because they aren’t friends nor do they fuck or kiss or do couple things except the few moments they have late at night or when they’re alone. Ryan sure as hell isn’t a love interest or a crush; at least, he shouldn’t be. 

Ray thinks about what he thought early this morning, about how he isn’t supposed to be attached to the blue eyed boy, despite how he acts after I-don’t-care-if-you- or whatever. It’s supposed to be no strings attached.

So Ray just replies he’s crew. Simple enough.

He knows the crew knows there isn’t anything going on between them and they’re confusing, even to Ray. He knows of the talks between Jack and Gavin about his - Ryan’s - clothes or the bets placed about who will win that term of I-don’t-care-if-you- or the stares he gets from the school as people try to keep their distance. He knows Ryan in some way and that Ryan barely knows him because he keeps it that way so Ryan can’t use him against himself or in due time, when he stops his late night visits because Ryan stops needing him, he can go back to closed up, chill Ray without worrying about leaving too much of him behind.

So when Ray gets to Ryan’s two story house at three in the morning, he wonders what Ryan  _ is _ to him. When Ryan looks at him startled and wide eyed with an empty pack in his hand, he thinks about how he keeps saying different things every hour, every day but ends up concluding that he can’t leave Ryan there alone, like a puppy during its first thunderstorm except for the fact that Ryan isn’t a puppy or that this isn’t his first storm and that this storm happens every single night but Ryan is still the same puppy every time.

Ray knows he could just leave if he wanted to. He could ignore Ryan’s calls, become the guarded chill him and hide the missing feeling he gets every night when he’s not by his side. He could go find something to do while his insomnia is in play. He could drop Ryan, just leave and act like nothing ever happened; all the games, the kind of cheap cigarettes Ryan asks him to buy sometimes that aren’t the ones Ryan would buy himself, but they’re cheap and easy to pick up at the liquor store across from Ray’s house or the way Ryan sleeps or how Ryan can tell his insomnia to fuck off and give him the few hours of sleep he gets everyday. He could do it all.

But he won’t.

He won’t do that to Ryan, not when Ryan is going to bleed out, let himself bleed out unless Ray, and only Ray, patches him up or wordlessly depending on Ray stopping him when he comes before Ryan calls by taking away the switch blade or flip knife or box of cigarettes. Not when Ryan already proved that he’ll destroy himself with more and more with whatever he does when Ray isn’t there. 

Ray ignores the scared looks Ryan has when he comes through the windows because he finished the pack(s) last night and forgot to buy a new one and is currently going through a mental breakdown. He ignores the choppy whispers Ryan pushes out as he tries to say that he didn’t call Ray yet or that he tried to go the night with just one or two cigarettes so he didn’t have to call Ray to come over with a new pack or to patch up his arm again. He just grabs the lighter he brought and a stick from a new box in his pocket because he knows how forgetful Ryan gets, lighting it and taking a drag while again, ignoring Ryan’s pleas not to do it, not to fuck himself up like Ryan did.

Ray just takes a drag, crawls over to straddle him and kisses Ryan, pushing the smoke into the other’s mouth. He feels the older relax slowly under him and the shotgun ends with sigh. Ryan pushes him to sit on his lap and Ray thinks it’s a record, with three couple-y moments three nights in a row. He doesn’t smoke anymore, at least not often, but he’ll do it when Ryan does this to himself after relapsing, trying to go back to before and driving himself insane. He stuffs the cigarette into Ryan’s mouth and they sit there with Ray on his lap and his hand on the younger’s hip. At some point, Ryan offers it to him and they pass it back and forth until they hit four, Ray taking away the box so they don’t hit five, six and then there’s a box gone in hours.

Ray lets him whine, then responding sharply that he doesn’t want to patch up his arm again when he goes over his limit like yesterday and that shuts him up. They sit against the wall until the alarm clock goes off making Ryan get up to turn it off and they don’t sleep today. 

Ryan leaves the room, coming back shortly with hot coffee and muffins, which is a nice change for Ray. He hasn't had hot coffee in a while, normally depending on the glassed iced coffee placed in his locker during school days and getting one straight from Ryan after he wakes up at noon on weekends before they head out to Geoff's house. 

It's a school day, but Ryan is still home so he makes some, holding a mug himself. It's only five past seven, and Ray doesn't need to show up at his locker to meet up with the rest until almost eight fifteen, and he knows Gavin will be there on his phone anyway. Ray knows Ryan wakes up at seven, half an hour earlier than he does. 

Ray gets a little jump in his stomach when Ryan sits back down next to him and turns on the t.v to the news channel and they seem normal. He  _ feels _ normal, and then Ryan gets up, walking out the door and the moment is gone. 

He’s only slightly sad because, well, he isn’t sure why he’s sad. He knows he’s not supposed to have expectations and he doesn’t have any. Maybe it was just because it was a new feeling.

Yeah, just that.

Ray doesn’t change his clothes because Ryan didn’t cut and there wasn’t anything wrong with them except for the smell of smoke and smoke was nothing. He could’ve gone to school with the smell of gunpowder or Geoff’s whiskey and it was perfectly fine.

Gavin points out the smoke as they walk to first period, and Ray shrugs before saying “ _ Blaze it! _ ”, to which the Brit says that it’s the wrong smoke. They laugh because they’re supposed to and the continue their day like nothing happened.

He walks to sixth period, entering the classroom to see the blackboard with the words  _ study hall _ in white chalk along with almost everybody rearranging chairs and tables. Some people look up as he walks by but goes back to what their doing without another glance. Nobody has tried to make friends with him after the day he became part of his crew, not that people tried to before. 

In the corner, a purple hooded figure sits on the stage and normally it would piss him off to know Ryan was lying on the ground with his favorite hoodie on but the light snoring he hears makes him push it to the back of his mind. Ray stands with his feet close to the blue eyed boy but not touching, hovering in the slight dark. The curtains hide them from everybody else and he could practice a new routine, but he knows he shouldn’t wake Ryan up, not after what has happened the past two nights. So instead, he sits down next to him facing the audience and pulls out the pack of smokes, lighting one. He hates the smoke a little because it’s done this to Ryan, but then again he’s thankful for it.

Ryan moves slightly at the sound of the lighter but Ray doesn’t acknowledge that Ryan’s awake, instead taking a drag, filling his lungs and breathing out. It’s dark, but not dark enough where he can’t see Ryan in front of him or if he put his hand in front of his face. The glowing cherry of the cigarette is a bright but dark red glow and it’s interesting to watch besides from the grey smoke that rises. Ray blows smoke rings and Ryan chuckles but it both dies as quickly as they came.

“You shouldn’t smoke. It’s bad for you.”

“Then stop smoking.”

“You know I can’t stop smoking.” Ray scoffs.

“Then shut the hell up.”

**Author's Note:**

> Let me know what ya'll think bc no one reads my stuff


End file.
